


Salt and Burn

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family Drama, Gen, Introspection, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters are good at holding on to hurt</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt and Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinestrated](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sinestrated).



It was quiet, finally, even though Dean's ears were still ringing and he was sure - or pretty sure at least - that the curtains of the other rooms were moving periodically as people looked curiously out at the parking lot, robbed of their evening's entertainment, since the dive of a motel didn't actually have cable.

That was probably why Sam and Dad had ended up going at it so hard, because there was nothing to distract them, nothing to keep the tension down. And yeah, Dean had known that the old man was going to go off on Sam for that slip-up with the salt, but what was he supposed to do about it? Sam had probably known too, had gotten himself all worked up and defensive before Dad even opened his mouth to say a thing about it.

And as much as Dean tried to stop it, tried to talk - okay, shout - them both down, it was like trying to get between a pair of fighting dogs - you just got yourself bit.

With a heavy sigh, Dean slumped down on a concrete parking divider, hating the both of them, hating everything, thinking with a sort of panic born of desperation _if only mom were here_. But of course she wasn't -- they'd had to manage without her for the longest time – just him and Dad and Sammy, their increasingly unhappy little trio.

Sammy would come back – he always came back – but that wasn't the point; the point was that it was another hurt, and if the Winchester men were good at anything, it was holding on to hurt.

Dean pushed his hands into the pocket of his heavy jacket, and curled his fingers around the crumpled pack deep inside. He hesitated before pulling it out, glancing around to make sure that Dad wasn't coming looking for him, that Sam wasn't hiding somewhere nearby just watching, stewing, waiting to slink back. Dad would absolutely blow a gasket if he knew Dean smoked – not that Dean did it that often – it was just when he needed something to do with his hands, something to make his head stop aching. John Winchester didn't have a problem with his boys hustling pool or lying to the cops, but he couldn't abide by anything that might compromise their abilities on a hunt.

Well screw him anyway; Dean needed it – a long, slow burn, and then he'd be sane enough to go back to the room and listen to his Dad huff and snarl – and Sam would be back in a few hours, and they'd sit on all the anger stewing between them. Then tomorrow they would hit the road, go out somewhere and kill something or burn and salt some bones, and all the insults they had hurled at each other would get pushed away into the ever-growing pile of _I can't take this anymore_.

One day, that pile was going to get so big, it was going to come crashing down, and it would probably wipe them all out in the process.

As Dean took a deep drag of the cigarette and blew a heavy cloud towards the midnight sky, he couldn't help but think that he would be sort of relieved when it happened.

-End-


End file.
